


Case of Pride

by beautifullyheeled



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Homoromantic, LGBTQA, M/M, Other, Pride, Queerplatonic Relationships, Relationship Discussions, Trafalgar Square Pride, biromantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. Lilac shirt, dove grey slacks. Accentuating his frame. He knew John would appreciate it, the figure he cut. It made him warm inside. He crinkled his nose, softly smiled at the idea, shaking his head and lifting his shoulder as he rolled his eyes and closed his armoire door. Sentiment. It was... nice. </p><p>This case was not. </p><p>But it gave him an out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Case of Pride

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. Lilac shirt, dove grey slacks. Accentuating his frame. He knew John would appreciate it, the figure he cut. It made him warm inside. He crinkled his nose, softly smiled at the idea, shaking his head and lifting his shoulder as he rolled his eyes and closed his armoire door. Sentiment. It was... nice. 

This case was not. 

But it gave him an out. _Out_. What a funny little term.

He left his room, smile still on for a moment before schooling his face. “Ready, John?” The cup was still hot on the table so he took a sip, immediately wincing at the non-sweetened coffee. “This is not my tea.”

“No, you berk, it’s my _coffee_... and what are you on about?” John sighed exasperated and placed a different mug in Sherlock’s free hand liberating his and sipping it immediately as if to mark his territory. “What’s on?”

“Case, obviously.” Sherlock took a deeper breath then was necessary and watched as John side-eyed the movement of his chest. Twenty percent dilation to his friends pupils. He tamped down on the flush of overall warmth he felt when he pleased John. “We’ve a parade today. Trafalgar Square... well we’ll not be in it, but perusing the vendors. Mingling.”

“But you hate mingling- wait did you say Trafalgar? So... Pride then?” John looked at him, curiosity clear in his eyes even as his body spoke of wariness. “But, well I’m not...”

“John, just act as you normally do. You’ll blend fine.” Sherlock pressed forward on his toes rather than his heels, shifting his weight to bring him just a scant bit closer to the man. 

“Sherlock. I’m not gay.” The blush of colour swept over John as his eyes roamed quickly then dropped. “I mean it’s fine that you are and I’ll go in support... always, you know. I mean... you’re my mate and all...”

“Nope.” The pop of his lips was entirely exaggerated, knowing he once again had John’s attention. “Do you think that I am- _gay_?” His eyes skirted along the shorter man’s features; amusement clear in his voice. “You do know that there are other orientations that go to these things?”

“Well, yes. I do.” John cleared his throat. Twice in short succession. Nervous or Uncomfortable. Very well then, he might not be willing to go along. Understandable. Sherlock sipped at his tea humming appreciately at the proper sweetness bringing himself back into John’s focus and out of his thoughts. “I mean, I told you it’s all fine, Sherlock. Really it is. I mean you do land somewhere on the 0-6 Kinsey Scale don’t you?”

“Sorry, not on the chart, expressly. Noooo.” Sherlock half-smiled at the slight confusion that clouded those blue eyes and crinkled his friends face just _so_. “While technically an 'X' on that scale, I have found that even being an outlier, that there are exceptions to even those rules. It is interesting though that you bring it up. Such a scientific explanation... so was it your first exposure after your sister came 'Out'? Trying to understand it all... or maybe to apply it to yourself?”

“God, you are an arse, you know that? Always assuming-”

“I never assume, John. It was you the first night we met and ever since that has praised me and basked in little furtive glances, shared experiences... and while you may not consider them dates, we do enjoy ourselves immensely. Dinners, evening telly, living in each other’s pockets... which is fine I’m not wishing an argument nor am I doubting that you are not gay... well maybe a little bit gay. You are what... self identified under a 3? Obvious. You enjoy the softness of a woman when you wish to bed someone, but the company of your male friend more for day to day. So where do you identify?”

John again, cleared his throat and made his way to his soft recliner, settling and sipping his coffee before cupping it with his other hand and studying the darkness in his cup as he spoke. 

“Um, myself? Well a two... possibly.” John’s face did a thing as Sherlock settled in his own chair and it mystified him momentarily. Oh. He knew that look. “Sherlock, look. Um, I like you. You’re well, you’re my closest friend... it’s a lot like... look I hate labels. Alright? Good enough? So... Pride, yea?”

“Yes. John, Yes. Pride. We need to go. There is... well there might be an incident. Mycroft has asked and after that last...” Now it was his turn to pull a face. He hated owing his brother, but this could, at least, be interesting. Fun with John, perhaps. “I _owe_ him and he loathes footwork so... I shall do his bidding as it is said. You’ll join me obviously. You’ve nothing on and it would be good exposure. You are always saying the press need to see me in a more 'humanistic' light, do you not?” He beamed a half-false smile before chuckling and sipping at his tea. He stood to his full height and placed his mug on their shared desk in their parlor. “Come on, John. It might be _fun_.”

Sherlock knew he had him when John aborted the contemplative sip of coffee for a titter of laughter. 

“Fun?” The easy smile crossed his friend’s face. “So I should bring my gun then?”

“No, John. I think we’ll be alright on this one. Just... get dressed.”

Sherlock smirked to himself as he played as if he were fine tuning his violin and turned to the window to begin playing. He needed something to do while he waited. It would take John fifteen... no ten minutes to get dressed. Less waffling as it was Sherlock, not one of his _women_ he was going to be seen with, but he’d still want to look smart... so the blue shirt, polished brown boots... Sherlock lost himself in whatever his memory picked at, the tune soft and almost melancholic. He was glad to have John, but knew one day- well it was not this day was it? And Sherlock was not one to dwell on future-tense. Too many variables.

Twelve minutes later, John came down from his rooms, indeed in the blue shirt. Black boots though, so he was taking guarding Sherlock seriously. Interesting. John was worried for him. He needn’t be. 

“Off-out, Mrs. Hudson!” John yelled down her hall as they breezed down the last ten stairs and out the door to a warm, but not uncomfortable day and hailed a cab. As always, Sherlock has superb timing and got them one straight away.

They got out a few blocks before the square and walked it. Sherlock breathed deeply, feeling free even amongst a crowd. There was something to be said of anonymity within a large gathering. He brushed John’s hand and tilted his head to suggest a change in direction with John smiling his answer and following his lead. This. This is what Sherlock loved about them. The complete understanding even in non-verbal situations. They moved together effortlessly without the worry of their sexualities looming against them. No, it was never about that. It was this. Symbiotic companionship. 

He’d never really had a friend before John. Why should he have done? Most were boring. Only driven by base desires. Wealth. Gluttony. Lust. These things were... well, expected, he assumed, but he had never felt their pull. Mind, he did eat more often if John made something, but it was only to please his friend. Well, not quite true, he appreciated the caring. It was John’s way of showing that. That he cared. Without sentiment as he knew Sherlock abhorred it; which wasn’t quite true either. 

“Sherlock- Sherlock?” John was tugging at his jacket sleeve and had pulled them into a little cubby of a spot. “Alright, then? You were lost in your head, yea? If the press of people is too much-”

“No, I’m quite alright. It’s fine. Come on... let’s go to that booth.”

It wasn’t the greatest of recoveries, but John had smiled and agreed so they went. Ah. Face painting. That’s the reason for the mischievousness that had crept into his doctor’s smile. Well, he’d asked to go over, so follow through he must.

“So what do you want, cutie?” The woman solicited, palette and clean brush at the ready... perhaps matching hearts for you and your sweetie?”

“Um, we’re not-” John had begun and then shut his mouth. 

“An...” Sherlock stopped short closing his eyes and thought swiftly through all of the permutations of flare that was common with the Pride movement. “Asexual flag please... possibly just stripes... just here?” He offered his cheek, his eyes wrinkling a bit at the thought of not-John touching him. 

“Here... let’s let your friend do it?” She winked at John and handed over the art supplies. “It’s all celebrated here, you know. Just leave it on the edge, would you Doctor Watson?” The woman looked at them a moment more and then left to the other side to help others that had been queueing.

“Guess we’ll see our picture on twitter before long.” John sighed but smiled at the same time, so he wasn’t put out. He was relaxed. Good. Better. “Let’s see what I can do.”

Before long, Sherlock had a neat set of lavender, white, grey, then black stripes that highlighted his cheekbone. John handed him a mirror as he set the tools down and waved a thanks to the woman as they passed by. She nodded in return before going back to the edge they had just been at, Sherlock assumed to get her discarded items. He beamed internally at John’s handiwork. 

People began nudging one another and glancing at them. They were noticed.  
Not often, but every once in a while. The times that they stopped, it was all smiles and warm welcomes. It was not as tedious as Sherlock had thought it might be. 

John stayed by his side the whole of their day, just a shoulder nudge or brush of a hand between them. As the day wore on, Sherlock once again found his heart mildly aching, but he had never knew comfort like this. Acceptance. Later in the afternoon, after a particularly harried jostle through the crowds John had laced their fingers and bodily moved in front of him to cut a path for the two of them to get away from the throngs of the masses. He’d not spotted what Mycroft had feared, and he was holding John’s hand as his friend hadn’t let it go afterward. He felt the blush rise and found he couldn't be arsed to tamp it away. 

“Here, Sherlock. Just... we haven’t ate... you haven’t in... well, two days? Just. You look flushed. Let me get us something from the cart. Just there. Don’t... wander off? Hold the bench, yea?”

His doctor. Always misreading. Well, this was not entirely true. It had been a few days and it was warm out; he had felt a little parched now that John had mentioned it. Must have gotten lost in thought again as he had allowed himself to be pulled along John’s steady wake. 

“Cake?” Sherlock’s eyebrow rose. “John this is... I’m not Mycroft. I don’t like _all_ sweets. Just biscuits.”

“Eat. It’s just a sliver... really. And look, they are themed.” His friend smiled at the novelty of their separate pieces. 

“Really... John.” But he couldn’t help but to chuckle. 

“And well, I got something else too.” The doctor just smiled quietly and took a big bite of his rainbow layered cake before handing over a shirt sleeve brace. “It’s supposed to be... well allies wear them, too, and I thought. Velcro it on for me, would you?”

“You mean adhere it after wrapping it around your upper arm? Verbing the word “velcro”. Really, John?” 

Sherlock couldn’t hide the smirk. He finished the damned cake and tea that the good doctor had given him as well. John could be, well, so _John_ he supposed. It was hard to get a pulse on it. The way this felt when he just knew to do something. And sometimes a bit outrageous was called for Sherlock supposed. After they had finished their... tea... on the fly, John once again took his hand and smiled as he gripped it. Sherlock happily followed his lead the rest of the afternoon out.

~

Later that night, at their flat, they lounged on the couch and ate Chinese; all the little take away containers scattered amongst empties. It looked like a miniature crime scene which made Sherlock smile. John had once again won at making him eat. Sherlock had always had a hard time not picking at this or that when there was so much variety. He’d grabbed one of the containers and slurped the slippery noodles in favor of dangling them. He’d been drinking... fourth one in. Yes, this was the better option.

“So. Today. You didn’t mind?” John cleared his throat only once. Curiosity. “I mean, the hand. Thing.”

“If ever a person was ever to touch me, John it would be you.” Sherlock swayed up a bit and swiveled to look at his friend seriously. “Not that I want... well not _that_ I mean in a general sort of... sense. Your hands are... warm.”

That was a nice compliment wasn’t it?

“Ah, yes. Um. Yours are too... nice I mean. But no... um me neither. I just.” John placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee and leaned in conspiratorially. “I fancy you... maybe just a bit. But not that way... no... but. Hands. Yes. It’s nice. Isn’t it?”

Sherlock put his noodles down and spinelessly flipped himself around in a languid manner for his head to flop onto John’s lap. He looked up into the darkened blue eyes and smiled. 

“Yes. It is. This... too.” He grabbed at the carton he had just had, almost upending the spring rolls, and began eating the noodles with his fingers. 

John had blushed, but hadn’t put his beer down, just allowed Sherlock to settle and resume eating. He chuckled above Sherlock for a brief moment before taking a drink. “I meant it. All fine. This... whatever we have you know.”

“I know.” Sherlock put the carton on the floor and stole John’s beer and took a drink before placing it on the table. “But I’ll miss it. One day. But that’s alright because I’ll be... you deserve happiness, John.”

Damn. Why did he have to have no filter. This is why he didn’t do this. With anyone. Not as if John would judge him for his feelings, it was most likely that his doctor even reciprocated them on a certain level. No, what Sherlock did not want was pity or remorse or any of those-

“Sherlock.” The voice ghosted over his consciousness. He felt the short fingers in his hair and hummed some response. “Sherlock, you’ve fallen asleep. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Then the giggle. Slightly more high pitched. The one John had when just over the crest and falling into drunkenness. “You still have that flag on your cheek. Let’s wash you up. To bed. Come on you git.”

They fell into the bed both laughing at the fact that John had finally lost his balance while trying to maneuver Sherlock’s long legs. “I don’t mind.”

John just tittlered again and began talking with him about some nonsense about best mates are that way for life. Like platonic partners. Partners. For now. Yes, that sounded nice, didn’t it? The whole of the day, John had been his friend. Ally. Partner. Was still. It was nice. 

Yes. This had been a good day.


End file.
